


Subito hospitem (inopinata mortem)

by The_Readers_Muse



Category: Queen of the Damned (2002), Vampire Chronicles - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Blood Drinking, Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Drama & Romance, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Multi, Vampire Turning, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-18
Updated: 2020-01-18
Packaged: 2020-12-22 18:00:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21080735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Readers_Muse/pseuds/The_Readers_Muse
Summary: In retrospect, he supposed that out of the entire debacle, that was the moment he seriously erred.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own either the book or movie rights to Queen of the Damned, or the books they were based on, wishful thinking aside.
> 
> Authors Note #1: This is a 'after the movie' fic, meant to fit sometime after the credits - months later. I have never read the books that this movie was loosely based on, so the only source material that applies in the case of this fic is in regards to the movie. *This ficlet is told mainly from David's perspective, but when have numerous chapters in Marius' pov.
> 
> Warnings: spoilers for the movie, adult language, mild sexual content, blood, blood drinking, vampire turning, canon appropriate violence.

The terrible irony was that when he noticed the open door, he barely thought anything of it. In fact, he wasn't at all concerned. Merely letting go of a patient sigh - having mild thoughts about the state of his heating bill or the possibility of wild animals now roaming through his house - as he closed the door that led out into the gardens with a quiet click.

He went through his mail with a disinterested shuffle before abandoning it on the hall table for later. Pulling his notebook out of his briefcase as he made his way up the stairs, multi-tasking and unconcerned despite almost missing a step as he headed towards his study. Wanting to get that observation of the matriarchal structures of vampire linage down before he forgot about-

There was a woman in his study.

He blinked.

He set his notebook down carefully on the polished wood of his desk. Caught in the middle of a strange surge of emotion as the woman remained with her back to him. Quickly stripping his precious first editions - worth hundreds, if not thousands all on their own - from the shelves with hurried grace.

It was all there. Everything he figured he should be feeling in a situation like this and even some that would probably seem strange to most people. Surprise. Anger. Fear. Disquiet. Annoyance. Uncertainty. And yes, a strange, morbid sort of excitement. He hesitated. Teetering between backing out of the room to call the police and confronting the intruder before fate, as it were, made the decision for him.

He didn't know there was a second robber until the cool barrel of a gun pressed into his side. But the sharp inhale he made was enough for the woman to whirl in place, long bottle-blonde hair flaring. The whites of her eyes momentarily huge in the unlit gloom before she caught sight of her accomplice behind him.

"Look what I found," the man behind him chorused mockingly. Voice coarse and strained near the end with an accent that spoke of back-alley fumes and lifelong smoker's lungs. "Looks like the professor came home early. Who would have thought? Guess you ain't married to your job after all."

The woman shifted on the balls of her feet, rocking back and forth as she tugged on a glossy blonde curl like a tell. Light green eyes darting furtively from him, the gunman, then to the hallway behind them before turning away again. Fingers skimming down the line of spines before selecting a dark brown tome – both especially brittle and rare - and placing it carefully in the hollowed foam of the large briefcase that was splayed open across his desk. Apparently content to ignore them both as she repeated the progress again and again. Each time managing to select a particularly rare and valuable text. Almost like she knew _exactly_ which ones to take.

He frowned when she crouched down and levered a large tome from the bottom shelf. That particular text was Talamascan in origin. It wasn't on any sellers list. It had no value as a collectible. It was of no use to anyone other than a curiosity. A historical oddity or a clever fake. Unless-

His straightened slowly, self-conscious of the steel digging into his back as his mind worked. Hands still up in surrender as her accomplice kept talking behind him. Nattering on about his collection and if he had anything else – _maybe a safe, something hidden?_ _And money, where was the money?_

The truth was he wasn't the best student of the more…_tangible_ humanities. How people in the here and now operated and interacted. And perhaps more pointedly, how they traversed the minefield that was intimacy and closeness. The dynamics of lovers, friends, colleagues and so on. Admittedly it was not one of his strengths. Something which Jesse had rarely hesitated to point out near the end of their relationship.

His powers of observation however, were _impeccable_.

He never forgot a face.

"Charlotte?"

The woman froze. Shoulders hunching like a startled a bird of prey before slowly straightening. The steady line of her shoulders sharp and without any of the youthful softness he remembered back when they'd first met. Less than a year before he'd taken Jesse as his apprentice. Back when the position had needed filling for reasons he was sure were about to become quite clear.

In retrospect, he supposed that out of the entire debacle, that was the moment he seriously erred.

* * *

His relationship with fear was something he experienced in increments when she turned to face him. Face blank and hard as she looked him up and down with a fatalistic sort of curiosity that did little to settle his nerves. Finding something in her expression that didn't translate like he figured it should have as he swallowed the tangy-stale of excess saliva.

"David," she answered with careful bite. Running her thumb down another tome, an expensive French copy of _Lesbos and Métamorphoses du Vampire._ Ironic. "You look...older."

His lip quirked. Feeling strangely unafraid the longer the moment stretched. Finding something fascinating in the way her expression tightened when he didn't fall back into old habits. Moments where he would take off his glasses and polish the lens. Distancing himself from the insult in favor of giving himself time to think. It was almost like there was something wrong with him. Like being around the supernatural had culled his sense of self-preservation somehow.

Marius, at the very least, would be amused to hear it. But ultimately would be more likely to question if he'd ever had much of in the first place. He certainly hadn't acted like it when Marius had visited his office after Jessie and Lestat all those months ago.

"I would ask what you're doing, but that much at least appears to be obvious. So, instead, may I ask why?" he questioned lightly. Or as lightly as someone that was both outnumbered and out gunned in his own house could be, considering the circumstances.

Her lip curled. Turning her lovely features ugly as the sneer spread. Manicured nails _tap-tapping_ against the polished wood of his desk. Uncertain of what to do with the realization that despite the part of him was seized in uncertain terror, there was another part eerily curious to know what happened next.

He'd never exactly been a fan of the suspense genre.

_No, he'd always been too eager to know how things ended._

"Why does anyone do anything, David? Honestly. Not that you'd know anything about what it's like."

"Money," the man behind him growled. Self satisfied and bored as he dug the barrel of the gun a fraction of an inch deeper into his side. Either unaware or uncaring of Charlotte's pinched expression whenever his brash voice issued into the eves.

"I cannot deny I wasn't born to privilege, Charlotte. That is something I cannot change. And it is something that I remind myself of every day. That I had opportunities afforded to few and the freedom to pursue my own passions and interests. Still, it doesn't define me as a person anymore than poverty should define the homeless. Rather, it's what you do with your life that should-"

"You left me without options, David," she hissed, cutting him off with a violent slice of her hand. Parting the oxygen between them as her fingers tightened around the book in her hand. Splintering the spine under the brittle leather cover as he twitched instinctively. Only just stopping himself from protesting on its behalf. "I'm just here to even out the score. You ruined my life, David. You took away everything I ever wanted. And now, now I'm taking away what makes up yours. Your money. Your library - pathetic as it is. All of it. The punishment needs to fit the crime, doesn't it?"

His eyebrow rose. Finally understanding.

"And for good reason!" he returned, voice strong as the utter insanity of her little scheme finally soaked through. "You gave me little choice, Charlotte. We swore an oath_. You swore an oath. _The order exists for a reason. We don't interfere. We record. Study. Watch. And if necessary, protect. You wanted to profit off it. _Personally._ And what you were working towards? Christ, it was mass enslave-"

"Bit rich considering your 'little obsession'," she trilled hotly. Eyes almost wild as she crossed the space and looked up at him fiercely. So angry, perhaps even unhinged – it'd often been hard to tell with Charlotte - that she was trembling. "Like you wouldn't seek him out if you could! Bet it isn't strictly intellectual anymore, is it? Do you get hot under the collar for him? When you stare at those paintings? That's the point, right? Loving something impossible so you don't have to risk anything - _anyone _\- else. You're pathetic, David."

If he were a braver man he would have laughed. Thoughts skimming through a wealth of memories where Marius reigned in looming prominence. Eyes ancient but smile almost always coy. It was a smile, as he'd recently discovered, that had shades and depth. More so than he'd ever imagined. Nor ever thought vampires capable of. It went against almost all widely understood modes of vampire behavior. And yet-

"You'd be surprised," he murmured thoughtfully. Enjoying the momentarily confusion that etched premature wrinkles across her forehead before speaking again. Turning his attention back to the matter at hand.

"Does your associate even know the world you've dragged him into? I doubt you've told him everything. The dangers? The risks? We aren't the only ones watching, Charlotte. The Ancients have woken, all of them. Do you think they'll react kindly to the disruption in their anonymity? They won't allow it. Whoever you're planning to sell these to- it doesn't matter. If the Order doesn't find you, the vampires will. They don't take kindly to their history falling into the wrong hands. Especially after Lestat."

The gun barrel cut an imprint into his skin as he thought about Marius. About the reason why the open back door hadn't alarmed him. He was well used to Marius' comings and goings. Ever since that night in his office the vampire's presence had been remarkably constant. Especially here.

"What's he on about, darling?" the gunman demanded. Catching a glimpse of dark hair and a black hat in his peripheral vision before he blinked and it was gone again. Wondering off-handedly if Marius had been planning to drop by this evening. Then wondering, somewhat more soberly, what the vampire would find if he did.

It was a surprise to him, perhaps more than anyone, that Marius apparently enjoyed his company just as much as he enjoyed his. Coveting their conversations that lasted long into the night. It was a tenuous bond that had grown into a steady friendship. If a human and an immortal could ever share such a thing. Of course, there was also something else - something more. Something that he wasn't quite sure what to do with even as his dreams became progressively more-

"Where it is?" she demanded, hands on her hips. Ignoring the gunman in favor of fixing him with a hard-lined stare. "Lestat's journal. I know you have it. And don't bother lying. We both know you aren't any good at it."

"Why? So you can sell it to a private collector? Is that it? You know we control a portion of the black market. Even if you don't cross paths with one of our informants, it will find it's way back to us eventually," he pointed out. Crossing his arms over his chest in a way that was more irritated than defensive. Already fed up by the entire affair as the gun barrel jabbed into his ribs like a reminder.

He considered his options. He lived alone, so there would be no one coming to potentially save him. No one would miss him until sometime tomorrow, likely not till the evening for his meeting with the council. He'd left his cell in the car – absent minded to a fault – so unless he could get to the landline he had no way of dialing for help. And even if he could somehow alert them without Charlotte and her associate noticing, his neighbors either worked nights or were snow-birding in Florida. Not that he knew much about his neighbors in the first place, mind you.

She laughed, cold and brittle like green-rusted copper. Far more likely to break then bend as the air in the room seemed to get just a little bit thinner. "You don't get it, do you? All this? It isn't about the instant gratification. You never could see the long term, David."

"It would've been easier if you'd let me continue my research. It took years- but eventually I figured it out. How to process vampire blood? It's as good as done. I already have an interested party willing to distribute my product. After all, who wouldn't want that kind of high? The ultimate trip without any of the complications? Vampirism, death, extreme blood loss," she remarked, matter-of-factly. Ticking each gruesome eventuality off with her fingers. Smile grating and predator-fake – baring a perfect line of pearl-white teeth framed with a tasteful shade of lipstick. Beautiful only at a glance, but dangerous and riddled with rot down to the core.

Despite his line of work, he'd never had the opportunity to experience true horror – or even disgust. But he felt them now. Finding himself biting down on the inside of his cheek because he had to do _something_. Desperately trying to think of a way he could stop all this. Get a warning out to the Order somehow – to Jessie even. Someone. _Anyone._

"I know that Lestat's journal highlights the turning process and I want it. You kept it from me. It could be integral to my research. I just needed to fine tune some vague details and it's all but done. And I figured, what better way then to hear it from the source," she explained salaciously. Gesturing to the mess of his antique cabinet and his steadily diminishing collection of first editions. "The rest is just me getting even. Call it what you want, childish- even petty, but I have to admit that seeing the look on your face when you walked in almost made this entire clusterfuck worth it."

_She was mad!_

"What you're proposing is impossible – _unthinkable_," he bit out. His usual nervous affability all but gone as his stance firmed. Straightening to his full height as the man behind him flinched and wavered closer - threatening. But he barely noticed.

Instead, his brain was teeming with images of vampires chained just inches from long shafts of sunlight. Keeping them weak and subdued as people in haz-mat suits scrubbed down blood-splattered walls. Carting out piles of dead – the unwanted and unnoticed of society - that had been sacrificed to lure the vampires into a trap they couldn't escape. He could see it almost like he was there. Vast warehouses where vampires – from the newly born to the ancient, were stripped nude and shackled to the walls as clear tubing ran red with trickling ribbons of rich, supernatural iron. Draining their blood like they were nothing more than chattel to supply humanity with the ultimate narcotic. After that there was only one thing he could think about.

_Marius._

It was a nightmare on top of a dystopian dysphoria.

He couldn't let this happen.

He had to-

"Nothing is impossible," Charlotte returned bluntly, turning back to the bookshelf with a satisfied tilt of her hips. "We are just chemistry, David._ Everything is chemistry_. That is all we are. Elements of the periodic table all mashed together and covered over with genetics that can be traced back to the beginning."

"Char- darling, what the hell is going on," the gunman hissed, clearly catching on that something wasn't right. Cursing under his breath when he was soundly ignored - again.

"The journal, David."

"You know I won't," he replied simply, watching her watch him as the moment threatened to grow stale and thin with tension. Paying deference to his more precious memories as his expression hardened. _Decided. _He would hold on for however long he could, but he would never tell her where the journal was. He wouldn't betray the trust that had been placed in him. Whether by oath or by a stronger bond - through friendship, comradery and _yes-_ perhaps even love. Love for an impossible being- an impossible man.

He would die to protect humanity from a vampire threat.

But he would also die to save the vampires from humanity.

Not that long ago only one of those would have been completely true.

Strange how one's priorities could change over time.

His lips quirked in private amusement. Remembering something Marius had said beside the fire in his living room only three months before. Elegant fingers steepling together as he cocked his head, watching him appraisingly as he finished the last of his work for the evening. Going over reports that finalized the necessary measures to ensure that the land the Admiral's Arms has once inhabited was quietly bought and shuffled to new ownership. Pointedly before any interested vampire parties sought to rebuild the tavern to it's former glory. Knowing that if Jessie had found it, those with even less knowledge and sense wouldn't be far behind. Especially considering the theories regarding Lestat's disappearance continued to grow more preposterous by the day.

Marius had commented then that being a Talamascan appeared to be a complicated occupation, if nothing else. Showing his fangs as his smile stretched when he sighed and finally looked up. Asking teasingly if he ever got tired of playing nursemaid to a clutch of immortals that neither knew nor appreciated his interference.

But more than anything, he remembered the honest power of the vampire's laugh when he'd simply arched a brow and turned the entire thing back on him with ease. Well used to the vampire's ribbing by this point. Glibly informing him that what he was doing with the tavern was no different than what they were doing right then and there.

It'd been a lie, of course.

One that Marius was well aware of.

But neither had he called him on it.

"And_ you_ know that I don't have anything to lose," Charlotte returned. Movements prim and precise as she reached behind the case on his desk and picked up a small, sleek looking Glock. Flicking off the safely with sickening familiarity before leveling it at him.

His throat bobbed, but he stood his ground.

"Be smart about this, David," she purred. Self-satisfaction all but dripping from her tone. Getting the sense of an unseen clock counting down rapidly. "What's it going to be?"

Strictly speaking, they were not meant to take sides. Beyond his own morality, Talamascans prized impartiality without entanglements above all things. The pursuit of knowledge – _of history_ – was what both drove and sustained the Order. But for _this_\- for this he would make every exception.

_For Marius?_

_Anything._

He'd made that vow long ago.

"I don't have it," he answered. Knowing she wasn't going to be satisfied as her eyes narrowed in anger and suspicion. Thinking back to his office at the university and the small, hidden safe he kept behind the rolling niche that housed Marius' paintings. The one not even Jessie had been privy to. Charlotte wouldn't find it. Not unless she knew exactly where to look. But that didn't mean she wouldn't succeed in this insane venture without it. Unless she was bluffing, she would get herself there eventually. And likely at great loss of life, both vampire and human, in the process. But that reality only shot another chill through him. To be so close to a final formula meant she'd already tested the drug, which meant- "But even if I did, I would die before I told you. You know that, Charlotte."

"That can be arranged, _professor_," the gunman rasped nastily. Hot breath gushing across the back of his neck as the man gripped him by the shoulder and _yanked_. Slamming him face first into the bookshelves as the scent of distressed leather and dusty parchment filled the air. He forced himself still, burying the fight or flight response screaming in the back of his head as he struggled to keep his breathing even. Hands curling around the wood as he scrambled for a handhold - knees threatening to buckle.  
_  
So be it._


	2. Chapter 2

He closed his eyes for a stuttered moment. Drawing strength from the small, secret part of him that'd been mute all his life. Uncertain of what to do with the steadying surge of righteousness that was flowing through him as his nerve endings memorized the press of the gun digging into his skin. Bruising him from the inside out as his ribs ached in protest.

He wasn't afraid to die for his principles.

They were all he had left to give.

One last deed of service.

One last test of loyalty.

He wouldn't falter, he knew that.

But she was still going to-

"You were expelled from the Order for a reason, Charlotte. The principals you swore by were not the ones you upheld. The only regard for life you have is for the betterment of your own," he affirmed, knowing he had to try. That he had to do anything and everything he could – no matter the consequences - before it was too late. Before his part in this story was over.

Even if all he succeeded in doing was spreading doubt, it might be enough to help the next person that came along. One who would succeed where he'd failed. Because the truth was, regardless of what Charlotte might think, her little scheme wouldn't last long. Against the strength and cunning of the vampires? _It was laughable._ It wasn't sustainable, not long term at least. Her little ruse might work on the younger, more foolish vampires. But against the elders? Once her operation became known to them? It was preposterous to think they would allow it to continue.

What he was more concerned with now was mitigating the loss of life.

Both human _and_ vampire.

"That applies to all life," he added, canting his head to address the gunman directly. "Yours included, I can only assume. You're a means to an end, nothing more. It's quite likely she'll ensure you never see your share of the profits. Charlotte was never exactly a team player."

"Shut up, you scrawny shit!" the gunman snarled, wrenching him around. Fisting his collar in a suffocating grip so they were facing each other for the first time. Feeling the cool kiss of the gun at his temple as he got a blurred glimpse of squinting eyes, early onset crows feet and thinning red hair.

"You know I won't help you," he posed instead. Allowing himself to simply stand there, half crushed into the book case until Charlotte cocked her head meaningfully and the gunman dropped him. Leaving him wavering on his own as the moment threatened to fracture like the air was made up of a thousand panes of shattered glass. "So why the performance? What do you want then, Charlotte?"

The firm line of her mouth hid an animal snarl. Something that translated across the board as demented and rageful as she straightened. Crossing the space between them with the soft click of designer heels against the Persian rug that stretched the majority of the room. So close that when she whirled again, the ends of her hair nearly clipped his face. Making him flinch and waver backwards as the man's grip on his collar tightened.

"Right now?" she echoed, voice turning saccharine sweet in a way that sent chills through him. Numbing his tongue with a rush of sudden static as her Glock gleamed in the low amber light. Fingers ghosting down the trigger before the barrel tipped up and-

"I want you to suffer. Like I did. But most of all, I want you to _stop talking_."

For a long moment, the sound of the gunshot was the only thing he registered.

* * *

He couldn't be certain how long it had been since Charlotte and her muscle had left the room. All he knew was how it felt- how_ he_ felt. The irony of bleeding out across the carpet, surrounded by familiar sights and the wholesome smells of home.

It didn't hurt much anymore.

He supposed he should've felt grateful for that, considering the circumstances.

But he didn't.

He shivered, chilled and unsteady as he clocked the occasional headlight hazing across the ceiling from the road. It was a subtle flirtation with the night shadows, but one he noticed nonetheless. Trying his best to flex his uncooperative limbs as a strange numbness started to spread.

The action was sluggish when he blinked. Uncertain if Charlotte and her accomplice had left the room or the house entirely. He didn't even know how much time had passed between then and now. It was all muddled – disjointed. Finding himself struggling to process the dull throb of pain in his belly whenever he raised his voice. Calling for help he knew wouldn't come as a liquidity cough wracked through him every single time. Leaving him sprawling and weak - reflection ashen and speckled crimson as he shifted carefully. Every movement translating into agony whenever he forgot himself.

Somewhere outside the wind hushed fitfully through the trees. Providing a natural, background accompaniment as he sighed, losing touch again. And for a time, he allowed himself to drift. Giving up control to- _well-_ he supposed that would be either fate or a higher power. If such a thing existed in this world or the next.

Anyone who said they'd never thought about what dying felt it was a liar.

It was just one of those things people couldn't help thinking about.

A defining human experience you only ever got to experience once.

Something taboo.

Something forbidden.

_Stigmatized._

Most wouldn't own to it, of course. They'd never admit there was just something terribly exhilarating about the idea. It was a line of questioning that bred like locusts. How would it happen? When? What would it feel like? What came afterwards? Was there a God? An afterlife? Or was there simply nothing? What did becoming nothing feel like? What _was_ death? How did the Earth breathe under the weight so many forgotten ghosts?

Apparently, there'd been a part of him that'd almost been looking forward to it.

He was aware how it sounded. And to say it wasn't like him was an understatement. He'd always been well balanced. Dependable. A solid middle ground no matter who or what was involved. And yet, here he was, slightly irritated to discover that death felt remarkably like _nothing._

Of course, it seemed obvious in a sense. Death was, in it's very definition, the absence of life. But considering he was lying on the floor - trying to prolong the inevitable as blood welled between his fingers - admittedly, he was rather put out.

_He felt cheated that the ultimate human experience was actually something of a let down._

_How bizarre was that?_

He coughed through a weak chuckle, something small in him breaking as he swallowed thickly. Leaking red between his lips as he turned his head to the side, cheek grazing the soft carpet. Feeling the prickling-sharp of late evening stubble before he returned to his silent dirge at the ceiling. Wondering off hand how long it would take for his body to be discovered. One of the perils of a largely solitary life, he supposed.

Still, the concept of death – especially at this point - was somewhat comforting. The meaning of life was life itself. It was existing. _Being._ And while no one knew exactly what that should entail, most wanted to live it regardless. The point was that everyone knew they were on the clock. Life was fleeting and temporary. That was what was supposed to create meaning - to make that handful of decades special.__  
  
Perhaps that was why being a vampire, at least for the purposes of eternal life, had never appealed him like it did with some. The idea of death - a natural death - no longer frightened him like it had when he was younger. It was a static point, something that could be planned and depended upon in a world where very little shared the distinction.

He'd told the truth when Jessie had offered.

He was too old to live forever.

Frankly, it sounded exhausting, especially if one didn't have a partner.

In a sense, Lestat, in his own selfish way, had managed to highlight the problem. It was a lonely business, living forever. It was why he'd raged against his glided cage. Why Maharet had coveted her human linage, protecting them through the generations. It was why Marius had turned Pandora, Armand, Lestat and who knew how many others. It was why he allowed his paintings to be known to the world – however limited that scope might be.

_Better dead than alone._

Everyone, human or immortal, craved connection. Company. Association. Love. To be known and to know. And much like the vampires, he'd been alone for a long time. And lonely for far longer. Even when he and Jessie had been together, he'd felt it then. The sense that something still hadn't settled into place. That it was a stop on the road, rather than the destination.

It wasn't until that moment in his office that everything changed.

For a brief flicker, he'd _had _Marius.

But the truth was, Marius had never truly had _him_. Mortality was too permanent for that. It was too firm a diagnosis to allow someone who'd watched history form and forget itself to get invested in a mayfly.

He knew his place in the scheme of things and he was grateful.

Grateful for what Marius had allowed him to have.

He snorted, blood trickling down from the corners of his lips in a sluggish curl of red. Still able to laugh at himself as he watched the vampire's ghost whirl above him. Lingering in the corners of the room he'd loved best. Apparently he'd become dramatic in his middle age. Marius must have rubbed off on him after all.

His eyes shuddered closed.

Even so, he would miss him.

He would mourn what he'd had of him.

And think wistfully of what could have been.

_If only-_

_Yes, if only._

It was the last thought he remembered having for a very long time.


	3. Chapter 3

He straightened his coat as he landed in David's back garden. Seamlessly translating from flight to foot as his long coat flared luxuriously around him. Inhaling pleasantly as the accustomed chill of flight gave way to the ambient warmth of the Talamascan's property. His surroundings were familiar enough that he made his way through down the uneven cobble path with a grace that even David rarely displayed.

Indeed, the man was more likely to peer into the wilds of the long-stemmed rushes and over grown ivy like he'd never seen them before. Having mentioned more than once that he rarely came out here at all. Muttering that he'd never quite gotten around to finding the key for the gate the let out into the rear of the street and the narrow causeway beyond. The one currently lined with rubbish bins and mildewing cardboard. Its gutters choked with last year's leaves.

And all the better.

Because he decided he liked it this way.

It reminded him of the flashes of memory and sound that made up his life before he was made. The part of him that remembered the warm kiss of the sun and the trickle of blood rolling down skin as his long sword clashed against another. Parrying one blow, then another, before slamming into the enemy with his shield. It reminded him of weed-choked graves and the forest clearings he'd tread as a boy.

It reminded him of the old gods.

The fallen ones.

The ones humanity had replaced many times over.

He was not oblivious to the weight that settled pleasantly in his chest - affectionate and perhaps even indulgent - when David's house emerged through the brambles. Smiling privately when he noticed the light was still on in David's study. Able to discern a soft jazz playing from the radio in the kitchen. The tick of the antique clock in the main hall.

It was quite late, he'd almost believed that-

He didn't stumble. He didn't know if he was capable of it anymore. But whatever was the nearest thing, he did. Stilling in place as his pupils expanded.

Blood.

Too much blood.

_David._

He was moving before the world around him even registered the change in atmosphere.

* * *

The thrum of the weakest heartbeat - more an echo than the true thing - led the way through the house and up the stairs as lose papers fluttered behind him like a lonely wind. Melding together with a patch-work story of what had happened here as the scent of David's fear - burnt and high - his horror, strength and yes- even love - shattered through his sinuses like a thousand broken things.

Empty cabinets.

A broken vase.

Stripped shelves.

Two unfamiliar scents.

Anger.

Fear.

Satisfaction.

Frustration.

The chemical cloy of something almost-

_Nihil__!_  
  
He found him splayed across the rug in front the fire place - eyes closed and restful in the way death only truly is when it's nearly come and gone. Skin trench-lined pale, with stark lips and blood-lined corners. Angles screaming pain and personal heartbreak, with one hand still pressed messily against the wound in his gut. Not unlike Andrea Mantegna's "Agony in the Garden."

A metaphor, perhaps.

He was at his side in less than a moment, long nails skating delicately down David's chest. Parting his coat and gentling the limp hand into his as the sudden taint of aging iron and gun-smoke made him hiss.

"David? David, open your eyes- look at me," he insisted. Eyes flooding red as he scented the man's death on him. Getting much of what must have happened in fractions as the empty shelves of his study rings around them like an absent audience. "Venite ad me…"

A robbery.

_But why?_

David's wealth was not particularly large.

Not unless-

He gathered the man in his arms with a care he had not used since his human years. Cradling him close as he scented down this man's neck. Trying to find an artery not yet drained of life. Finding himself incensed when the man's rich, natural scent came back sullied and impure. Infected by an almost toxic taint of terror that threatened to make him gag. Something that went beyond fear. Something else had happened here. Something intertwined with the harsh scent of a female. Someone who had-

A low, rumbling growl built in the low of his throat. Something unfamiliar to even him as a tide of rage washed over him. Making him hold David just a little bit tighter as the man's blood slowly stained his clothes.

"Do not leave me," he whispered into his hair. Pressing a chaste kiss behind the shell of David's ear as the human's pulse hiccuped sluggishly. "We have only just begun, amica mea."

There was no question what happened next.

The moral conundrum of consent humans so often posed had no hold on him.

David was his.

_He'd always been his._

David would die. That was the only certainty before him. Certainly, there was no doctor alive that could save him now. Perhaps when the moment had been fresh, but now he was far too weak. His string from the three crones of fate had already been cut. His fate sealed. His body simply hadn't followed suit. Not yet.

But it didn't have to be the end.

_It wouldn't be the end._

Still, he hesitated.

He'd never bitten one so close to death. He knew the risk. They were the same ones he'd warned Lestat of so many years ago. Knowing that with the loss of blood David had already suffered it would be easy to be pulled into the sweet siren of the man's final death. The same one that called to him – promising an end that even he found difficult to ignore - every time he drained the life from those he hunted.

Yet, he cared not.

There was a chance he could save David. A chance they could be together in a way he hadn't dared hope for – especially considering the man's protestations on the matter. And for him that was reason enough to try. He'd lived far too long to know the worth of the passing years. And the value of certain people, dotted amongst the centuries like diamonds in the darkness. Special people. _People like David._

Admittedly, he'd always been rather selfish.

And predictably, this moment was certainly not the exception.

Immortality was a lonely venture.

A lonely life.

He'd come to understand that rather quickly after his own making. He'd turned others in order to combat it. He'd made his own family. His own forms of companionship. His own lovers. Those of his own whom he could relate to, despite the bickering animosity that had sprung up throughout the centuries. The childish spats, flaring tempers and passionate, decade long silences that inevitably occurred. Always content in the knowledge that through his bond, he could always find them. Always feel them. The bond between maker and childe was strong enough in him that no matter how far they roamed he could always close his eyes and savor their imprint that lived within him – vibrant, alive and never withering.

He'd turned Lestat for want of a son.

A beautiful son, but a son nonetheless..

But that wasn't what _this_ was.

That wasn't what David meant to him.

No, he meant much, much more.

He tipped his head back as he bared his fangs, sensing the final beats of David's heart – sluggish and slow within the cradle of his chest. Catching the glinting flash of pearl-white against the amber-tint of the antique lamps. Finding god in the thin murmur of flavor that still resided within as he lowered his head to the weak of David's pulse and allowed his canines to sink deep.

And while he certainly didn't relish accumulating personal contradictions, he found an awkward, pagan catechism rising from the backdrop of his oldest thoughts. Fleetingly familiar phrases that spoke of youthful invocations and polished stone pendants etched deep with ancient runes and symbols that hazed through the backdrop of his mind's eye as he pulled away from David's neck with a snarling gasp. Licking his lips with an animal delicacy as the smoky-sweet flavor made every muscle delineating with pleasure. Only wishing he could have sampled more, nursing from his chosen's veins like a babe to sup before, he ripped into the pale of his wrist until the blood ran thick. Holding it tight to David's lips as the world and everything in it slowed down into a darkly-shaded pantomime of itself.

And for the first time in countless centuries, he prayed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reference:
> 
> "Nihil!" latin for "No!"
> 
> "Venite ad me," latin for "Come back to me."
> 
> "amica mea" latin for "my darling."


	4. Chapter 4

_"Leave him. He's as good as dead anyway."_

_"Shouldn't we be sure? Finish him off and all that? Hmm? Char?"_

_"No."_

_"No? What're you on about then? I don't think-"_

_"Trust me, Dean. I'll explain everything later, when we're back in the warehouse. I have a better idea. …We've been watching this place for weeks, right? We know he's been meeting with someone. Let's finish the job and see if he shows. He could know where the journal is. And if he does, he'll tell us where it is, given the…proper encouragement. Talamascans aren't exactly known for their-"_

_"Didn't work on him though, did it? None of this was supposed to happen, Char. Look at him! He wasn't even supposed to come home! It's a mess! The fuckin' cops are going to be involved and-"_

"_There's no use wasting time whining about it now, is there? We're on the clock. Dean. Keep your thoughts on that. Think about what happens if we get caught, hmm? One fingerprint and you're through. Third strike, isn't that what you said? So wipe this place down and lets head upstairs. There are a few places we haven't checked."_

"_Fine. Fine- don't get your panties in twist, darling. You're with a professional. Superior services and all that. Though- honestly, this has all gone to shit, hasn't it? Thought you said this rich fuck was jumpy, aye? He didn't seem happy with my Glock between his ribs, but that didn't stop 'im from gettin' all mouthy. Things like that make me think you're keepin' something to yourself. We are a team, love. Not a one-woman show. Equal shares, right? You best remember that or I might start taking some of the shit he said to heart."_

"_Dean-"_

"_Save it, Char. So, what's this guy's deal, anyway? Mr. Freaky Professor? Thought he was a wallflower."_

_"David was always a special case. Nervous. Kept to himself. Always too smart, too rich for his own good. We must have struck a nerve. The only time I ever saw him speak with any conviction was during his lectures… and when they kicked me out of their little club."_

"_Picked a fine night to grow a pair."_

"_He always did have bad timing."_

"_I'll say. He came home, didn't he?"_

"_Come on, wipe down the shelves and the desk and help me upstairs. If he moves, hell- if he even looks at you wrong, shoot him again."_

"_With pleasure."_

* * *

He'd read Lestat' journal a thousand times, but he'd never understood it in the way he wanted to. What there was to know - to understand - to _feel_ in the moment of rebirth. He'd written articles by the half-dozen speculating that it had something to do with the missing link humanity had lost. That elusive connection with the natural world. Surmising that perhaps vampirism was the re-connect between humanity and its baser, forgotten parts.

One might think that having all but romanticized the notion he would've been disappointed by the reality. But, as it turned out, even he had managed to sell the concept short.

* * *

There was no moment for remaining between.

Somehow he just knew.

* * *

He came back into the world completely dissimilar to how he left it. With a pulsing, feral rush. Rising from the floor with a gasp that tugged on an ancient chord. Taking on that singular quality he'd so admired - and been unnerved by. The sound of eternity breathing.

His body was frenetic and pulsing-alive. Riding a cresting wave of confidence and surety that translated like a high. _No, it was better_. Because this was real. For the first time in his life there was no anxiety, no second-guessing, no crushing seeds of negative self-worth. Only surety. Capability. Strength. _Power_. And best of all, it was still him. He was still himself, merely enhanced. Now with the ability to rise to his full potential.

He blinked up at the ceiling with animal eyes.

There was no heart-beat.

No pulse.

He was ice cold, nerves deadened but somehow- vibrantly alive.

He hissed, tasting the complexity in the air. Feeling the affirming tug as every nerve ending, muscle and girth of ivory-bone was renewed and made stronger. _Better_. Part of him wanted to bask it in. To enjoy the moment the world finally made sense. But his attention was already shifting, overly involved as a spit of wrongness seeped in.

_Where was his maker?_

He couldn't sense him.

Where was-

_Marius!_

Memory returned in a rush. It was too fast for any true, dedicated understanding, but enough for him to digest the basics. Realizations that would have unmanned him if he wasn't-

_Marius' blood was in him._

_Strengthening him._

_Teaching him.  
_

He saw flashes of a strange ritual and familiar hands fisting at ropes that held him down. Almost as if Marius himself was trapped underneath them. He felt the echoes of his old-world fear. His anger. His rage. Then- nothing. He saw Lestat's making. Armand's. Pandora's. He saw the night the Ancients gathered. The Queen's undoing. He felt Marius' elation when he sensed the Queen weakening. Then his sorrow when Pandora fell to fire and dust. Feeling her loss keenly, as only a maker could. He experienced the drugging power that spread through Marius' veins at every pull of their mother's blood. He felt the glow of understated joy when he- _Marius_ finished one of his paintings – pale hands pebbled in color. He experienced the hedging, reluctant jolt when Marius was roused from decades of slumber on the eve of the Second World War. He felt his disgust and irritation as his home was destroyed by mortars. Retreating to a far off Mediterranean sanctuary to paint and then- only a year later, sleep again. He saw flashes of his younger self through Marius' eyes. A hundred different nights of lingering glances and stalking shadows. All of them with him unaware. He felt his maker's interest as he matured. He felt his curiosity. Affection. even-  
_  
Oh._

_Oh god-_

He hissed softly. Baring his fangs for the first time as he looked up from floor. Taking in the fading scents and empty shelves. But still, the sense of wrongness spread. Realizing after a clumsy scenting that despite the man's absence, his scent was thick around him. Protective but weak.

Marius must have found him after Charlotte had-

His hand flew to his breast, tangling with the bloody, shredded fabric. Realizing what must have happened as he breathed there – alone in the moment – every inhale unnecessary and sharded as his nails glinted sharp in the dim light. He shook his head, looking down at himself. One hand going to his neck, trying to find the wound. His glasses skittered across the hardwood as panic tried to gain ground. Cleaving through the cold haze that seemed to illuminate the world and himself, rather than hide it. Giving him almost too many avenues of distraction as he closed his eyes and tried feel anything other than-

He seized to his feet – a creature of whiplash hunger and cooling, porcelain flesh. Animal and new as he wrenched himself off the floor with a wounded sound. Body unfamiliar but whole as he sank to a defensive crouch. Nails catching and razor sharp as he buried them into the plush of the rugs that scented as _his_. Trying to get his bearings as he panted. _Hungry_.

The reality of what had happened was unmistakable. But he went through the motions regardless. Mourning his humanity like one would a close friend. Someone who you'd been close with, but hadn't seen in years. Still, the tragedy felt muted. Like he should have cared more, but didn't. He supposed that was because in a strange, roundabout way- he'd gotten what he wanted.

_Marius._

His head flew up as the vampire's name teased out a screaming cord in his chest.

Lonely.

Empty.

Missing.

"Marius," he whispered, lips flirting dangerously with the sharp of his fangs. Overwhelmed by a hunger that made everything else fade. But he couldn't afford that now. Something wasn't right. Marius wouldn't have left him. He closed his eyes, forcing himself to ignore the empty burn in his belly, the soreness in his muscles and the growing need to run. Focusing on that small kernel of awareness that linked all things. Knowing deep down that something was desperately wrong.

His first inhale was heady with his death.

With Marius

Charlotte

And-

He breathed in as the scent wound through the door and onto the street. Cocking his head as he followed it without moving. Scenting the heavy tang of sweat before the stink of rubber and petrol stung his sinuses. But he didn't stop. He pushed further, trailing after the scent of expensive linen, blood, silver-streaked chemicals and-

His eyes flew open, flashing golden-red.

_She'd taken him!_

_He'd been weak- too weak from turning him._

_Charlotte had used something- maybe even her formula to subdue him._

He stayed frozen on the floor of his study as it finally permeated.

_Marius was gone and it was his fault._

The world shifted. Parting the veil. Giving him access to long forgotten instincts and animal rights. Filling him with a sense of purpose that hearkened like the precursor to some age-old action as he threw back his head and let go of an otherworldly roar.

It was a yell that was ageless and young - powerful and weak.

A feral scream of war that carried unnaturally in the evening chill.

And for a long moment, nature stilled.

It was a lament of rage.

Something that would have been heard by every vampire in the city.

But he didn't wait for a response.

The first step he took towards the window crushed his glasses into a fine, crumbling powder. Shedding his jacket until he was in his trousers and blood-stained dress shirt. Hair plastered thick with it as he ran his hand through the marginally longer auburn strands. He paused on the sill for a long moment, looking back at the debris of his old life before firmly turning his back. Taking to the air like flying was just another instinctual reaction.


	5. Chapter 5

He was flying over roof tops, holding onto control by inches of dead air, when Lestat and Jesse fell into place on either side of him. Hushing into existence in a way he could finally detect as the fractured sigh of forgotten centuries followed at their heels.  
_  
He could feel them.  
_  
More than that, he could sense Marius within them. The bond from maker to childe that was vibrant in Lestat, and weaker in Jesse. He could detect the subtle aroma of blood from a recent shared feeding. The sharp musk of sex. He could sense their surprise. Their concern for Marius and mixed emotions at his own turning. But stranger still, there was something else. A building respect and animal reverence from them to him that would have unnerved him if he'd been able to spare the energy.

The city blurred by.

He hissed when Jeese put on a burst of speed he couldn't match. Too far gone to police himself. But perhaps he shouldn't have bothered, considering they deferred immediately. Senses singing as they dropped behind him. Like two predators giving way to the more dominant animal. It made no sense, but at the same time, he felt as if it was his due.  
_  
He was mate._

He didn't understand what that was.

Or what it meant.

Not yet.

But he knew it was significant.

* * *

They followed Marius' scent to a warehouse across town. He dropped down on the roof with an animal crouch as Lestat and Jesse followed. Eying the scent-trail that lit up the pavement below with individual threads of interwoven color. Each one unique against the other. Marius. Charlotte. Dean. Silver-burn. Cigarette ash. Vampiric blood. Human blood. _His blood_.

He dropped down to the pavement with a careless shudder that disobeyed gravity.

Seeing, hearing, smelling, _knowing._

He breathed in, able to tell the amount of time that had elapsed.

Sensing the sluggish hum of Marius' presence nearby.

Sensing-

He blinked. Turning on his heel. Smooth and elegant in a way he'd never been as Lestat and Jessie looked back at him with open curiosity.

"How?" he asked, fangs sharp against his lower lip as hunger churned through him. _Aching_. Suddenly wanting to know how they'd known. How regardless of the distance, they'd found him. Dropping everything to flank him in this venture like vanguards of some old, forgotten order.

"I sensed it," Lestat remarked simply, cocking his head as he looked him up and down with dark eyes. "Marius has always been here- a shadow looming in the back of my thoughts. And suddenly- that presence vanished. Like a candle losing it's flame."

Jesse was more direct. Coming to his side as a deep feminine purr left her throat. Designed to soothe even though their shoulders refused to brush. It wasn't comforting. _She_ _wasn't_. In fact, the feeling it left him with refused to mix - like an oil spill in his mind.

"We heard you, David," she murmured, long hair silken-straight but still dead somehow. Dead in a way Marius had never been. Not even in his paintings. It was like he didn't know her anymore. Maybe he never had. Maybe he'd never been meant to. _Yes_. He was starting to understand that now. Their paths had been set a long time ago. "We were on the other side of the city and we heard you. I think every vampire in the city did. We felt your pain. I still feel it- _here_."

She pressed her hand against her chest, where her heart used to beat. Watching him like she'd never seen him before. Like he was completely different in a way that had nothing to do with the change.

"What happened?" Lestat demanded, circling him slowly. Testing his patience until he bared his fangs in warning. Feeling a desperate itch building under his skin. He needed-

"I came home and Charlotte-"

"Charlotte? Your old student?" Jessie interrupted incredulously, eyes flashing. "The one the Order blacklisted?"

"The very same," he affirmed, long nails raking back his hair. Prowling around the deserted parking lot before leaping back up to the roof of the old factory building. Trying to locate exactly where they were keeping him as the tie that bound him to Marius tugged tight like a heartbeat. "She was there, stealing, but it was worse than that. She found a way to do it. To profit off the vampires- she developed a drug, something that-"

He shook himself, fraying.

"She's going to drain him. Marius- she's going to-"

"You need to feed," Jesse told him, voice strangely distant as a haze of red fell over his vision. Feeling a strange tug of emotion at the words. Acknowledgement. Need. Horror. He hadn't had time to unpack any of it. His death. His turning. The reality that one part of his life was over, while another was hemming him in. Ready to drown him in moral complexity.

But again- he couldn't bring himself to care.

Not when Marius was so close.

"I can smell it, David. You can't do this without-"

He shook his head, snarling mutely

"There's no time."

Lestat took to the air while they argued. Finding a solar window set into the roof and peering down. Standing delicately on the pane as his blue sleeves billowed in the warm city breeze.

"He's right, Marius is weakening. I can see him, but I can barely feel him," Lestat interrupted, voice heavy with a calm sort of rage that only grew in intensity as a growl left him. "He's chained with some sort of chemical laced into the metal. He is weak, very weak, but he should still be able to break free. Whatever it is, they- they're trying to drain him further!"

He jerked at the mention. Muscles flexing - buzzing with hungry exhaustion - as he forced them to heel. Landing silently beside him as Jesse joined them. Balancing on the metal slats that connected the skylight.

_Marius._

It was worse than he'd imagined. Because Marius was strapped across a rusty metal table, fine clothes torn - slit up the sleeves on either arm to reveal blue-veined wrists. Charlotte and her muscle moved about the room. Ignoring the rattling chains as Marius pulled at them ineffectually. Hissing every time Charlotte came near. The ugly sneer of her mouth warped through the thick glass as the scent of sterile metal and acrid rage tarted the air.

He breathed through his mouth, able to taste the elder vampire's weakness.

A weakness he was only suffering because of him.

Because Marius had saved him.

Because-

The air above their heads parted like whip-lash. Looking up just in time to catch the slurred shape of another joining them around the dirty skylight. But unlike when Marius had appeared at the concert in Death Valley, he sensed the vampire's presence before he settled across from him.

_Armand._

The name aired out with a fond darkness in the back of his mind, but in Marius' voice. Remembering the whirl of memory from before. Armand was still as beautiful as the moment his mortal life had left him. And perhaps just as seethingly vicious. Long blonde hair teasing the nape of his neck as his clothes, mid-century France, draped over his form like softened butter.

"I've never known Marius to give so much of himself," Armand opened sleekly. Inclining his head lazily to Lestat and Jesse but addressing him. Not seeming to notice when Lestat stiffened in affront. Getting the impression his measure was being taken as Marius' childe stared at him with vibrantly blue eyes. "To never go far into a mortal's death was his first lesson, his first rule. Yet he broke it to make you. Curious. He must care for you a great deal. …Marius' version of philanthropy is usually far more selfish. For them to have taken him, he must have been very weak. He will not survive unless we free him, already I can barely sense him."

He nodded, ignoring the rest as his fangs pricked his lower lip as he pressed them together. Sucking at the red that oozed through the seam. It was foul and weak, but still comforting.

"My, you _are_ special, aren't you?" Armand crooned, eyes never once leaving his face as a sordid sort of recognition lightened his expression. "Ah, now I understand why Marius stayed after what happened with Marharet and the Queen. He was courting you, wasn't he?"

He closed his eyes.

_Why were they just standing there?_

_What were they waiting for?_

"David?" Jesse murmured gently. Expectant in a way that made him look up. Blinking through the red he couldn't shake away until he realized it was_ him_ they were waiting on.

That right was his and his alone.

His lips parted, baring the points of his fangs into the dark humidity. Turning to look at each of them in turn before he finally spoke. Voice trembling with a hungry quaver that threatened to unman him completely before he straightened to his full height and gestured to the roof access only meters away.

"Let's get him back."


	6. Chapter 6

"The Order tried to stop me. _David _tried to stop me. But it's over. _I won_. When I finish with you, I'll have the purest sample possible. It's only a matter of time. …Even without the journal. He must have it in his office somewhere. He was always too fucking smart for his own good. Still, look where that got him. Dead on his own floor. Pathetic. No one is going to find him either, not for days. It's not like he has anyone – or lets anyone get close."

Reality flowed back to him like the slow glide of paint on a prepared canvas. Only the slightest bit damp. Alive with possibility, but forced to reflect the machinations of his vision. Ripe for him to-

"You're him, aren't you?" the woman said, coming into view suddenly as he lolled his head. Snarling when she dared to approach. Struggling through the weakness David's turning had left him with as the bullet holes that riddled his chest leaked life from him further. Closing sluggishly. Slowly. Much too slowly. "Marius. Marius de Romanus?"

His feet tried to curl into the metal underneath him, but he could find no purchase. Worse still, his legs barely moved. Bound tightly like the rest of him. It was no ordinary metal. Drained as he was, he should have been able to break free. But-

"I recognize you, from the paintings… Quite narcissistic, you know. Painting yourself into history. Your own private little joke, I suppose," the woman continued. A manic sneer twisting her lips as she checked the strength of the irons he was chained with. "Bet you loved the attention. You had art historians slobbering over the contradictions. Determined each piece had to be fake. But they could never prove it. You were there the whole time, laughing, weren't you? You enjoyed playing them all for fools."

His nails bit into his palms as the burn from the chains spread angry black sores across dead veins. It was of the same ilk as the contents of the needle she'd stabbed him with. Making him arch and spit as he'd cradled David's head in his lap. Reeling with the thrall of pulling him back from his final death. Caught off guard for the first time in memory as the world faded to an unfamiliar black.

If he hadn't already been dead, he might have thought differently about the chemical taste of it.

"David was obsessed. It was all he'd talk about when we worked together. No one could compete with it. Not even his little protege," she snapped, words dripping with bitterness. "Must be why they didn't last. Most women don't like that kind of competition… I know I didn't."

The flow of his brush on the canvas in his mind stuttered.

_David? Where was David?  
_  
His senses, weak as they were, flared out.

Searching.

_Oh._

His uncertain pause was notable purely because it was necessary at all. Confused when he realized he could smell the man twice. As if he was in two places at once. Despite the stink of rot and twisted chemicals, he could smell David on her clothes. David's blood. David's home. His books. The sharp of his tongue and all the stray molecules that'd passed between them when David had still been-

He cocked his head.

Something was different.

There was another scent.

Similar, but-

"What were you and David up too, hmmm? Can't think you'd have much in common, honestly. You were his obsession, but what did _you_ get out of it? Are you really that self-involved that you had to insert yourself in his life too? Painting yourself into history wasn't enough anymore? ...We were watching, you know. We knew someone was coming at night. We had the entire block under surveillance. I was hoping it was the Order, I wanted to catch them together, make them pay. But honestly, I think I got the better deal, catching you."

His chin threatened to tuck into his chest, too weak to hold his head upright.

He needed to feed.

He hadn't experienced such a hunger since he'd been a newborn.

It was the chemicals the metal was laced with that was the true culprit.

It was what was keeping him pinned. Weak.

"-he could never see what was right in front of his face. We could have been a team. _Partners._ He had the finances to get us started, I had the brains. The drive. But no, he had to get all high and mighty. They made an example of me when they should have been listening! It's time that the Order recognizes that it isn't vampires they should be protecting. Or even us. They should be-"

A thrill of awareness shuddered through him as a familiar presence flickered into being in his mind's eye. It was similar to the auras of those he'd turned over the years, only far more intimate.

_Potest fieri?_

His smirk was private, unknown to her as he lifted his head. Soul singing towards a sudden crescendo as the second scent condensed. His eyes were blurred, but he still scanned the room. Using the last of his strength as he reached out with his senses. Exhaling with radiant relief as confidence soared back just as quickly. His subtle question returned four-fold.

_O mea._

It would seem he'd underestimated him, even now.

When they'd been torn from each other, David was struggling to turn.

He hadn't known if he'd been in time to save him, but he'd hoped.

And now that faith was being rewarded.

"-all this time he was protecting you. _Meeting_ _with_ _you_. The Order none the wiser, of course. I knew it. I knew it! The bleedin' hypocrite! You know what he said to me before I pulled the trigger? He asked me what I wanted. I told him! I told him what I wanted but he wouldn't give it to me. I gave him a way out, but he wouldn't fucking take it. _He made me_ _do it_."

Something must have made it to his face because she glared at him suspiciously. Hand drifted to the syringe on the tray beside her. The threat there was clear. Gouache and tiresome as her voice cracked with mania.

"No one is coming for you, not David… not the Order. You're alone. Even if David wasn't dead, you think he'd even know where to look?!"

The darkness behind her parted.

Filling the air with a mouth-watering scent he knew like breathing.

_Oh yes._  
  
The corner of his lips quirked as David appeared silently behind her. Glowing with love and newborn rage as he rose from his crouch with animal confidence. Meeting eyes over her head, at long last.

The connection between them sparked when David showed him sharp canines, virgin and hungry.

_His._

The demon in him was soothed to rumbling as his fangs kissed the cracked thin of his lips. Parched tongue wetting between them before he spoke for the first time. His smirk poisonous as the woman's eyes narrowed.

"Oh my dear, you're certainly going to wish it was that simple."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reference:
> 
> Latin to English.
> 
> \- Potest fieri? – Could it be?
> 
> \- O mea – Oh my love.


	7. Chapter 7

_"Oh my dear, you're certainly going to wish it was that simple."_

* * *

He caught Charlotte by the throat before she could turn. Snapping her around to face him as his palm closed around the hitch of her lower jaw. Sharp nails digging bloody grooves in her skin as he let her see him. Snarling viciously as the whites of her eyes blew wide with fear.

"David...n-no- no..._please_-"

He could have said something. Something smart. Something to get even. Something to make it hurt before he took everything from her. But he didn't. He was too hungry. Instead, he seized her up and sank his teeth deep. The first swallow, bliss. The second better. The third-

"Charlotte?! …Oy! Who the fuck are yo-"

Somewhere behind him, the skylight shattered.

* * *

He could feel the warmth of Marius' approval – and arousal – as he fed. Shuddering in response to the sound that left him as Charlotte's back bowed, hands scrabbling against his shoulders. Wanting to keep the moment boxed and protected so he could visit it later as he soared through the intoxicating butter-soft of his first kill. Knowing Marius was watching. Able to feel the phantom heat of his want as he took her down to the floor, fangs teasing out the richest artery before playing with it. Enjoying the threat of a quick death as he supped on the richness of her blood.

_Oh, he understood now._

All those months of evening visits.

The long conversations by the fire.

The subtle flirtation he'd been so eager to misconstrue or explain away.

That Marius couldn't possibly want him.

But he'd been wrong.

It had been a courtship in its truest form.

On some level, he was aware that Lestat and Jesse were tearing at the chains. Hands smoking as they flung the metal away. Aware that Marius was weak enough to stumble before he stood, pushing away from the metal table and smoothing his ruined coat. Reeking of weakness and-

It only made him angry.

Angry at what they'd almost took.

Angry at what he'd almost lost.

He swallowed Charlotte's cry, following the line of her arm as she reached out- pleading. Fingers curling towards where Armand had Dean by the neck. Tasted enough that the human was docile when he dragged him to Marius. Letting him crumple at his feet like an offering to an ancient alter.

He lost sight of him when Marius slammed Dean into the nearest pillar. But he sensed the moment strength returned to his sire's body. It was enough to free him from the painful haze of self-control. Finally giving him permission to lose himself.

And he did. Giving into the instincts that screamed for him to coax out every single-

He severed the vein he'd been teasing with a snarl, fountaining blood that gushed down the ruin of her throat in crimson waves. He drank greedily, feeling Charlotte twitch. Growling to match the desperation behind her final cry. He should have felt something. Guilt. But the truth was, he felt only elation. Satisfaction. _Pride_.

This was right.

Deserved.

His.

_His._

"David…"

He looked up, allowing the limp body to drop. Fangs drizzling red down his chin before he licked it away. He was still hungry. _Still starving_. He spared a glance down to where Charlotte was crumpled at his feet, heart barely beating. He wanted more. There was still some life in her, perhaps he could-

"David, come."

He straightened slowly, but he didn't move. A small act of rebellion to be sure as Lestat, Armand and Jesse watched them wearily. Caught in a haze of red, he took in the debris of Charlotte's make-shift lab with an aloof expression. Allowing his tongue to linger when he licked his lips clean. Primally satisfied when Marius' eyes followed.

It would have to be burned.

All her research.

Any compounds she'd managed to synthesize.

The metal as well.

He didn't know how she'd come across such a dangerous combination, but it was clear it could never be known to the rest of the world. Even to the Order. The risk was too great. If Charlotte could discover a way to profit from vampires, there would be others. And if they ever discovered the same dangerous alloy, well-

"David, veni ad me."

This time he did.

They came together with a hush, understated and unhurried. Just another reminder of how they were remarkably similar. Unlike Lestat, he was content to be dignified, despite his wants. Holding himself back as Marius smiled at him, understanding. _Of course he understood._

He let go of a fettered gasp, bruised soul on fire when Marius reached for him. Wiping the blood from his chin before licking the fingers clean. Sharing his first blood like the days of old. A tradition of lovers.

He let go of embarrassing sound as Marius smiled, fangs bloody. So close to a whimper he'd never live it down. He couldn't help it. It was instinctual. He swayed closer, scenting down the length of Marius' neck. Wanting-

"We will leave you," Armand interrupted pointedly, inclining his head.

After a heavy moment, Lestat did the same – if not irritated at being dictated too. But Jesse merely stared. Looking at him like she'd never seen him before, conflict clear on her pale features. He didn't know how to answer her, so instead he buried his nose in Marius' hair. Inhaling happily as the man's hand ghosted down the small of his back, rumbling pleasantly. His affection, and intentions, obvious.

Lestat and Jesse shifted before taking to the air. Uncomfortable. Childish.

He huffed a laugh. Feeling like they'd been caught doing something indecent as they stood there, barely touching. Every part of him alive with an awareness he'd never felt. Feeling everything and nothing all as Marius' smile turned wicked as they watched them leave. Knowing they wouldn't go far. They were unsettled. What with Charlotte's enterprise and Marius' brush with death, he wouldn't be surprised to see them again in the coming days. Even Armand.

Marius' chuckle echoed in his head this time, before-

"You are exquisite, David. Positively ethereal."

He ducked his head, shy and undeserving. But the thought was quickly rerouted when Marius captured his lips in a kiss. Soft and brutal. Mature, but hungry.

It was heartening how much he related.

"I thought I'd lost you," he admitted. Mouthing idly at his sire's lips as Marius' tongue grazed his fangs. "I woke up and you weren't there. Everything was different. I-I was different- and I couldn't sense you. …You took a hell of a risk."

"Yet, I am already reaping the rewards," Marius returned smoothing his ruined cuffs, smile sultry and dark. Brushing shoulders with him like he'd already accepted what had happened and was ready to move on.

He shook his head, taking a step back. Almost angry.

"I'm not worth that. _I_ _wasn't_. I don't want to be responsible for the death of so much history. …Or you."

_Especially you._

He sighed, going to adjust his glasses before he remembered he wasn't wearing any. That he didn't need them. But the nervous energy needed an outlet, so he found himself running a hand through his hair instead. Questions brimming. But there was one that demanded to be voiced immediately. He had to know that what he was feeling for Marius wasn't-

"I feel…" he started, struggling to put the instinct _– the knowing_ – to words. I feel- no, I know-"

"-that I am yours?" Marius replied, dark eyes sparking. "Etiam, _yes_. The first time I laid eyes on you, years ago at the exhibition in Paris. I knew then you were mine. It is why you were drawn to me. We are fated, David. You have no idea how long I've waited for you."

If he were still capable of it, he might have gotten goose-flesh.

Sensing the power behind the words.

The truth behind the inflection.

"I cannot say I'm sorry to finally have you this way. To say differently would be untrue. It is a human sentiment I cannot express, even if you wished it," Marius continued, staring at him with the same expression that had been alive on his face that night in his office. "My only regret is the way it happened. It should have been a joyous time. Something to be savored. I confess I was looking forward to it."

He opened his mouth to say _he'd _found him first. That it had been _him_ \- that first painting, those eyes – that'd led to the exhibition in Paris and the ones after.

But in a way, Marius was right.

_He had found him._

Marius had found him the moment he'd discovered that first painting in Madrid.

Capturing him, body and soul.

The word obsession had been a poor adjective, to say the least.

"But we're still here," he tried, lost to sum up his feelings. He'd never been particularly good at such things. At expressing himself. He supposed he should take solace in the fact that some things remained the same.

"Yes, we are," Marius purred. "And now I have you for my own."

He smiled small as they stood together, trading air they no longer needed.

"You've always had me," he admitted quietly. "I didn't have to be a vampire for that."

Perhaps he should have known this was coming. He'd been immersed in the supernatural for so long, he supposed it was a marvel he'd made it this far. History was, after all, an inescapable thing. He'd told Jesse he was too old to live forever, and in many respects that was still true. But to spend eternity with Marius? Well, that changed things.

"Are you displeased?" Marius asked, cocking his head as he looked up at him. Sounding unsure for the first time since he'd known him. Surprising him by how human the question was.

He shook his head. Choosing to be brave as he kissed him fully. Hands wandering as they mapped the span of Marius back, finding it lithe, but compact. As if at some point in his mortal life he hadn't been a stranger to hard labor. He had an entire Colosseum of theories when it came to Marius, and the man knew it. Having allowed him to tease out half-truths during their evenings together, his amusement clear.

But now it was almost accessible.

Their connection seemed far stronger than what Lestat had described in his journals.

He could actually feel-

"I'll admit, I would have _preferred_ to make the choice freely. But, I'm not upset with the result, all things considered," he answered. Privately marveling on it as their connection grew impossibly electric. Building up to a predictable, burgeoning result below the waist that should have given them pause considering they were surrounded by broken glass and bodies.

But it didn't.

Lord, it just made it all the more alluring.

_When had he become such a deviant?_

Marius chuckled, one hand gliding down his cheek, cold but loving. Inviting him to lean in. Quivering when red-hued flashes flickered past his closed lids. Seeing himself through Marius' eyes. Seeing what the man wanted. What _he_ wanted. Pale and nude against a silken coverlet, shoulders bunching as sharp nails trailed down his thigh. The temptation of a throat bared as his head thumped against the wall in open pleasure.

When he opened his eyes, Marius was staring at him wickedly. Eyes alive and promising him everything. Things he didn't have a name for. Things that didn't have names. Things they would discover for themselves and name in kind.

The world and all its possibilities had never been more open.

"Come, David," Marius hummed, extending his hand for him to take. Squeezing firmly before bringing his fingers to his lips for a reverent kiss – scenting dawn on the breeze. "We have waited long enough, I think."

He couldn't help but agree.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reference:
> 
> Latin to English.
> 
> \- Veni ad me: "come to me."
> 
> \- Etiam: "yes."

**Author's Note:**

> Reference: Like my previous works in this fandom, the title is a Latin translation. Meaning: "Unexpected guest (unexpected death)."


End file.
